


What The Well-Dressed Copper’s Wearing

by wendymr



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Gen, Sartorial Splendour, mood themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 07:11:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6145690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“All those black suits you’ve been wearing since you got promoted – what’s that about?”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	What The Well-Dressed Copper’s Wearing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [owlbsurfinbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlbsurfinbird/gifts).



> Set somewhere between S8 and S9.
> 
> Written to wish Owlbsurfinbird many happy returns on the 2nd, and in very grateful appreciation of her patient and kind BRing. Hope you have a wonderful day!
> 
> * * *

“All those black suits you’ve been wearing since you got promoted – what’s that about?”

James, sitting with Robbie in the beer-garden of the Vicky Arms wearing a black three-piece suit, doesn’t bat an eyelid. “Got a job lot off the back of a lorry.”

Robbie snorts. “Could arrest you for receiving stolen goods.”

James just smirks. “You can’t deny I look good in them. Very appropriate for a conscientious, professional Detective Inspector.”

“What, as opposed to an amateur one like me?” Robbie sips his pint. “Mind, if you consider Dent and Farrell, suits seem to be a thing of the past.”

“Blow-ins.” The exhale of smoke is dismissive. “Haven’t got used to Oxford sartorial standards yet. It won’t take too long. Lizzie keeps accidentally-on-purpose mistaking them for criminals.”

“Told you she was worth hanging onto.” Robbie leans around the circular table and nudges James in the ribs. “Nah, you look like an undertaker in those suits. Would never’ve believed I’d say it, but I miss your pink shirts and ties – an’ even those lavender socks. What’s happened to all that clobber? Did you throw it off a mountain in Spain or something?”

James smiles slightly, shaking his head, and takes a long draw on his cigarette. Robbie simply continues to look at him, expression expectant. Finally, James sighs, looking mournful – a clear sign that he’s about to take the piss. “If you must have it, the sad truth is that I’m in mourning.”

Robbie assumes his best long–suffering appearance. “Go on, then. Mourning what?”

James clasps his heart. “You abandoned me for another.”

What? Oh, now he really is taking the piss. Well, two can play at that game. “You abandoned me first. I seem to remember an orphanage in Kosovo? And then, if I’m not mistaken, there was that very long walk in Spain.”

“Undertaken _after_ your abandonment, remember.” And there’s that slight uptilt of James’s lips that show he’s mocking.

“Not that I’m admitting it was an abandonment, mind you, but which happened after _your_ excursion to Eastern Europe.” Robbie sets his empty glass on the table; point scored, mock-dispute won. “Your round.”

* * *

“I know he was taking the piss. But I think he did mean it, all the same,” Robbie says to Laura later. “Oh, not about the clothes. But feeling abandoned – well, one minute he’s my first choice for a pint or takeaway and telly round at mine when I’m at a loose end, and then he comes back from less than a week away and you and I are together.”

“I don’t doubt it,“ Laura says, sitting sideways on the sofa so she can look at Robbie. “You know he’s always been ridiculously fond of you. I used to wonder whether he was actually in love with you, but I’m pretty sure it’s nothing like that.”

“Nah, it’s not. I’d know if he was.” At least he hopes so; Robbie’s always been slow to notice that sort of thing. But, anyway, he’s as certain as he can be that James isn’t interested in romance with anyone at all. “I dunno what I can do, though. I mean, it’s not as if we haven’t made it clear he’s welcome to run tame here any time he wants. He’s even got his own bloody chair!”

“And instead he works practically around the clock and barely even goes home,” Laura points out. “I know you’ve tried to persuade him not to be such a workaholic, but what if you could make him see there’s a more attractive alternative?”

Robbie’s pretty certain he’s already been doing that, but it’s never really that easy with James. When it comes to his personal life and his ability to recognise how much he’s cared for by his friends, the bloke seems to lose all the intuition and observation skills he demonstrates in abundance as a detective.

Laura’s right. It’s time to be even less subtle about it.

* * *

“Pint? Not takin’ no for an answer. I’ve spent the last two hours in a case update with Farrar’s team and I need intelligent conversation.”

James’s expression switches from _Sorry, too busy_ to _You poor sod_ , and he rolls back his chair. “How could I refuse so eloquent a cry for help? Just as long as you’ve left the canoe at home.” 

“No paddling this time, promise.” Robbie taps twice on the doorframe. “Come back to ours afterwards? Laura wants Indian from that place around the corner, an’ they always send enough to feed half the nick.”

“Lamb jalfrezi?” There’s distinct interest in James’s tone, and Robbie knows he’s caught his prey this evening. First skirmish won.

* * *

A couple of weeks, and an exhausting, stressful investigation later, Robbie looks across at James across the office he’s been sharing with his friend and Lizzie for the duration of the case. “I’m done in, an’ you look it, too. Come on, let’s get out of here. Laura texted – she’s made shepherd’s pie.”

James’s face assumes a polite mask. “You go on, Robert. I’m going to press on with these reports. See you tomorrow.”

Robbie doesn’t move. “You didn’t listen to me, man. _Laura texted_. Check your phone.”

James frowns, absently reaching for his mobile. His frown deepens as he does a double-take. “Why’s she texting me?”

“Texted both of us. As for why, should be obvious. She’s expecting us both home. An’ I wouldn’t keep her waiting, if I were you.”

James appears to consider this for a moment, then sighs. “I suppose if I don’t want a grumpy pathologist at my next murder scene...”

“Precisely.” Robbie pushes back his chair and stands, then ushers James out of the office ahead of him.

* * *

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” James asks moments after he’s opened the door of his flat to Robbie, dressed in jeans and a rugby shirt (making clear he’s off-duty) and bearing a four-pack of Abingdon Bridge.

“I knew you’d gone home at a reasonable time for once, and I just felt like having an evening in with my best mate.”

James steps back to let Robbie enter. “And where is the good doctor this evening?”

“Not working, if that’s what you mean. Don’t only see you when Laura’s busy.”

There’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flicker of surprise in James’s eyes, before his lips turn upwards in that familiar faint smirk. “I hope Laura knows that she’s always welcome here.”

Robbie settles on the long sofa and accepts the bottle and glass James passes him. “I’ll bring her with me next time.” He pats the cushion next to him. “Anything on telly?”

The smirk becomes full–blown. “Haven’t got one. You’ll just have to _talk_ to me.”

“Not a problem.” Robbie’s own grin widens. “You’re the one with the problem there – you’ll have to talk back!”

* * *

“Laura’s invited me to dinner at yours tonight.”

Robbie glances sideways at James as they’re strolling from Magdalen College back to the nick. “Yeah?”

James exhales cigarette smoke. “Clearly she feels in need of intelligent company.”

Robbie grins. “Didn’t tell you I’m cooking, then, did she?”

Instantly, James’s amusement disappears, and he’s clearly thinking of a way to withdraw his acceptance. Robbie nudges him. “You could always cook, y’know. I’d be willing to concede my turn to you.”

“Oh?” He’s clearly intrigued by that idea. “You do have a _very_ well–equipped kitchen.”

“All yours,” Robbie says with an expansive gesture. 

James smiles. “Laura also said I should bring an overnight bag. She’s promised some very good wine.”

“Mm-hmm. Friend of hers just got back from a week in the Bordeaux region.”

James’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’ll be over as soon as I’ve been home to pack.”

“Good.” Robbie turns onto the Cowley Road. “Might as well bring more than just one change of clothes. Leave some stuff in that spare bedroom – your room now. It’ll make it easier for you to stay any time you want.”

James’s step falters as he almost stumbles. But he just gives one abrupt nod, and walks onwards.

* * *

A week or so later, Robbie strolls into the kitchen to see James busy making breakfast. “Coffee, Robert?” he asks without turning around.

“Wouldn’t say no.” Robbie heads to the fridge for bread and milk, and they move smoothly around each other to get the meal ready as if they do this all the time, before Laura comes down. 

Robbie’s just put the rack of toast on the table as James joins him, cafetiere in hand. And a flash of colour catches and holds his gaze.

Laura arrives then and good mornings are exchanged, but Robbie silently catches her eye and very subtly nods towards James. James, who is wearing one of his ubiquitous black three-piece suits – with a bright fuchsia tie.

And James, of course, hasn’t missed the direction of their gazes, and his lips curve into a slow, striking, _happy_ smile. “I did tell you, Robert: I set high standards when it comes to coppers’ apparel.”

Robbie grins in return. “Keep doing it, canny lad, you just keep doing it.”

* * *


End file.
